


It’s really just a tentacle fic guys

by TheHuskyDragon



Series: We’re all going forward/none of us are going back [7]
Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphenphosmphobia, Blow Jobs, Facials, Inflation, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Not Beta Read, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, but like... lowkey, idk what y’all want from me it’s just Higgs fucking Sam w tar tentacles, the most embarrassing part of writing fanfics is tagging it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:40:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21830563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHuskyDragon/pseuds/TheHuskyDragon
Summary: Higgs catches Sam up in the mountains
Relationships: Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan, Very minor hints at deadsam
Series: We’re all going forward/none of us are going back [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551493
Comments: 8
Kudos: 199





	It’s really just a tentacle fic guys

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I got like 103 followers on tumblr?????? So I write this in maybe about 12 hours uh. Here y’all go. I’m shameless and it’s obvious 
> 
> Mild warning; I tagged dubcon, as Sam does repeatedly say no in ways, but it’s turned consensual by the end of the fic. Kinda like... if Higgs wasn’t he enemy and also a terrorist, Sam would have consented yknow?

“Higgs.” Sam calls, tugging on the black tendrils that entrap his limbs, “what the _fuck_ is this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” Higgs replies, voice as breathy as ever. He’s a fair distance away, watching Sam struggle in the tar. He’s on one of those floating rocks, mask on and hood covering his face. He’s sitting on his ass, leaning back in his arms casually. Higgs tilts his head as if to taunt him. 

Sam, on the other hand, is _tangled_ in fucking _tentacles_ of _tar_. They stain his skin when they slide against it. There wasn’t a BT in sight— not that he could’ve seen them, Deadman had taken Lou. 

Which is _fine_ , Sam reasons, he doubts Higgs will hurt him too bad, though he feels he has… _other intentions._

Sam lets his head hang back; he’s hanging a good few feet off the ground. He groans in his throat and closes his eyes shut. 

Maybe this shit is all a dream. Maybe he _isn’t_ up in the frigid mountains, captured by fucking _tar tentacles._ He’s already wasted too much energy struggling, and there’s no way he can reach for his canteen. Higgs has been— just— _watching_ him tug helplessly. Higgs had thrown his cargo somewhere out of sight, ensuring it will remain unharmed. 

A tendril slides up his thigh to cup his ass. 

“God _damn_ it Higgs, just let me finish my delivery!”

“And let you go?” He drawls. Sam bares his teeth before pressing his lips together. The tentacle paws at where the seams of normal pants may be. Higgs leans up and over, as if trying to get a better look. Sam wonders if the tendrils actually have a mind of their own, or Higgs really _doesn’t_ know that his uniform is basically one piece . 

As if reading his mind—which, hell, _maybe_ he did— the tendril slides up to his stomach, then to his chest. The tendril then fucking basically pets his face, smearing thick tar half over his mouth and jaw. He resists the urge to lick it off his lips. 

It crawls its way down his collar and attaches itself to the zipper. 

Sam cusses when the zipper is yanked down, then louder when the uniform is completely unzipped. Sam then redoubles his efforts trying to escape, knowing he’s not going to get out til Higgs is finished with his fucked up game. 

The tendril, slimy as ever, is _cold_ when it drags itself under his shirt. He’s tangled in his uniforms now, most the straps still tight. 

“Can— can we do this literally _any other fucking time?_ ” He calls out, nearly desperate, “ _after_ I reconnect America?”

“Aw, Sammy boy,” Higgs says, “Who _knows_ what the BTs would do if you reconnected everything? I would barely be able to control them…” he sounds like he’s considering it. 

Sam could hear the shit-eating grin even behind two masks. He’s got his head on his hands, elbows resting on his knees. 

The tendril paints his skin with tar, cold and sticky and _thick_ . It feels like it sticks to every cell of his, every molecule. He can hear the moans of BTs, still not yet visible, but perhaps waiting until Higgs drops him, _if_ he drops him. Sam feels the tendril completely switch direction and go for his pants. Sam uselessly tries to pull his legs up, together, _anything_. He loathes the chuckle that comes from the other man. 

“There’s no use in fighting it Sam,” he says, “so just _let it happen.”_

He feels one of the thinner tendrils slide itself along his spine. The feeling causes him to seize up, nearly swallowing his tongue. While he’s distracted, a few of the limbs had seemed to yank his pants and underwear down to mid thigh. 

Sam lets out a string or cusses while he attempts to catch his breath. Even though the tar seems to _secrete_ warmth— the tendrils too — they’re still up in the fuckin mountains. Sam’s teeth chatter, his legs shiver as he tries in vain to cover his bare member. 

“F-f-fuck you Higgs!” He says, not being able to stop the shivers in the slightest, “are you fucking s-s-serious!?”

“Oh I wouldn’t have come this far if I wasn’t.”

Sam’s muscles tense in an attempt to get warmer. 

“I have a way that’ll warm you up…” Higgs offers, voice sultry and Sam knows exactly what he means. 

“Higgs, no—“ but before Sam could get a full complaint out, he felt one of the tendrils— thin and _far_ too slick— slide down his back and down his crack, leaving sticky warmth in its wake. It presses against his hole. 

Sam ground his teeth together. When he opens his eyes— when had he closed them?— Higgs had teleported himself at his side. He’s got his chiral mask off, held out in his hand. Before Sam can open his mouth in complaint, like a magnet, the mask snaps to attack itself to Sam’s own face. It steals his breath away like nothing he’s ever felt before, causing Sam to tense all over. Then, something just… _happens_ . He sort of slips into it. Whatever _it_ is. It washes over him in a wave; he’s not as cold, he doesn’t need to struggle… while his arms and legs seem weakened, his mind is still as sharp. Higgs takes the mask off. 

What… the _fuck_ ? He’d fucking _say something_ if he could, but he has to make sure he doesn’t bite his tongue off shivering still. He doesn’t _feel_ cold. 

His thought process is a loop of “ _what the fuck?_ ” While he numbly feels the tendril press more insistently at his hole. All the tentacles and the resulting stains left behind leave the feeling of pins and needles, just barely, just enough to keep his mind clear. 

It’s _weird_ and he’s wildly uncomfortable with what Higgs must have done to him. 

“Don’t worry, Sammy, that’s just to make sure you’re a little more... _cooperative_ ,” Higgs, hood still cast over his masked face, leans over the porter and slides his gloved hands over his clothes chest, down to his cock. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control as fingers close around him. 

Sam’s _idiot dick_ in this state is easily convinced and soon hardens despite the low temperatures. He barely notices the fact that the tendril has actually penetrated him, but not by much. He clenches around the little that’s in him in surprise. 

He hears a groan punch its way out of Higgs. Higgs sighs as his hand stutters in its movement. Having Sam completely hard now, he drops him. The pre leaking from his cock shines from the light the snow reflects off. 

Sam throws his head back in a yelp when the tendril thrusts multiple inches into him. Sam barely hears Higgs’ low chuckle over the blood rushing in his ears. Another tendril curls around his neck loosely and slides up to his face. It feels along his lip curiously. 

“D-don’t— put that shit in my mouth,” he says, speaking alone is herculean effort. 

“Aw, Sammy,” Higgs coos, he almost sounds hurt, “it’s _just_ tar,”

He turns his head, “ex—exactly,”

Higgs huffs behind his mask. He sounds terribly like a child pouting. 

The tentacle in his ass isn’t even that fucking _big_ , but it still sends small bouts of pleasure through his body. They warm him up, makes the knot in his stomach, under his scar, tighten. Makes him _want_ to come. 

The tendril in him starts a slow pace, the tar helps. It’s… not the worse thing. It feels _good_ , Sam finds, and he can’t say he wouldn’t completely mind more. 

“Oh, I can give you more, Bridges,” Higgs says. He hikes his leg over Sam, as if Sam isn’t multiple feet off the ground. He sits on Sam’s stomach, barely weighing anything. Higgs is still entirely clothed, Sam considerable _less_ so. What does he mean _more_?

Before he could ponder more, another tendril presses against his already stuffed hole. He opens his mouth to complain, because he doubts he can fit that much so soon, the slick appendage slides its way into him. It’s barely any effort, still a stretch, but Sam just _takes it_. The two of them pick up speed inside of him and Sam moans. The pleasure is almost too much, rolling in waves over him. His next moan comes out shaky, eyes wide as he lets pleasure take over him. He knows Higgs’ ego is most likely inflated, having Sam literally under him like this. 

His cock hasn’t been touched since Higgs had let him go minutes ago, despite that, he feels close to coming. The mixture of Higgs _in general_ coupled with the two tentacles in his ass is— it’s _doing it_ for him. He feels almost shameless, he has to cherish these pleasurable moments like this. 

His shoulders tense when one of the tentacles jabs itself against his prostate. His legs yank together faster than the tentacles around him can stop them. The resulting pleasure was barely that, the prod too forceful to be enjoyable, yet it still sends thick pre out of his cock. Sam’s breath stutters when Higgs grinds his cock on his belly. His hands are on his chest and, while Higgs is completely clothed and there’s at _least_ a layer of clothing between them, Sam still feels his skin break out in goosebumps, separate from the cold. 

The next thrust in, the tentacle drags against _that_ spot again, somewhat softer this time. It’s still a lot, enough that Sam’s breath heaves and his cock is constantly leaking. The tendril around his throat tightens minutely, the same moment Higgs gasps. Does he— can he fucking _feel_ these? _What the fuck?_

Sam tests his theory and clenches around the two inside of him. Higgs, in return, let’s out a shocked moan as he arches his back. The tentacles pick up speed, thrusting into him at a rough speed. 

Sam’s orgasm sneaks up on him and hits him like a truck. He can’t hear the noise that comes out of him because he’d thrown his head back and his eyes roll back. Thick cum paints his trembling thighs. 

His eyes snap open and flicker around frantically when the tentacles _don’t stop_ . He’s soon overstimulated and he tries to breathe a full breath so he can tell Higgs to _stop, slow down, anything._

They barely slow down for minutes more. Sam tosses his head from side to side as he tries to yank his arms and legs free, just to _stop_ the maddening pleasure and pain from coursing through him. His breath hiccups with small sobs he can’t help. He’s not even hard yet, but he feels like he _should be_ . One of the tentacles is still— _still_ rubbing that spot inside him. He feels like he’s going to go insane. 

Finally, god, _finally_ they slow to a stop. Sam gazes at nothing, focusing on getting his ragged breathing in check and his mind right. 

“You—“ he starts, voice hoarse. He clears his throat before speaking again. “You _done_? I got— fucking deliveries to do… ya bastard,”

“Perhaps I could deliver for you, though if I’d do that now,” he sounds as breathless as Sam almost, “I’m sure your _baby daddy_ would call in and check up on you. Wouldn’t want our fun to be _ruined_ , hm?”

_Baby daddy? Jesus, does he mean Deadman? What—_

“What more could you fucking want from me, Higgs?” The words are out of him mouth faster than he can stop them and, despite Higgs’ face still covered, the shocked silence speaks enough words. Higgs bows his head forwards as a low, quiet chuckle that shakes his shoulders rings through the air. 

“Well, if you ask, Bridges…”

Higgs hooks his thumbs into his own pants and frees his own leaking, hard cock. Before he can do anything, Higgs scoots up his torso and soon his cock is pressed against his lips. Higgs rests a hand on his head. Sam drags his gaze up to his shadowed, hidden face; looks into the eyes he can’t see. 

“Don’t bite, Bridges,” he commands, “you _really_ aren’t in the place to do so,” as of to set an example, the tentacles _still_ inside of him starts a slow, even rhythm back up. He grinds his teeth together before begrudgingly opening his mouth. It _is_ tempting to bite— it’d be so easy— but he just wants this to be done and over with. Though he doesn’t doubt the memories of this will service him later. The tip hits the back of his throat and he tries desperately not to gag, eyes becoming wet again. Sam’s breath is harsh when he pants through his nose. The tentacles speed up with Higgs, soon going nearly the speed they originally were, and Higgs barely being able to contain these small noises that come out of him. 

Sam is still horribly too over sensitive. There’s some fucked up feeling that rises in his chest at how— _taboo_ fucking the enemy is. His own cock is hard again, bobbing with the movements. There’s no way Sam can see Higgs with his own inactive BB pod in the way so he closes his eyes, lets himself be immersed in the coursing pleasure and low pain of oversensitivity. He just keeps his mouth open, tries to keep his teeth covered— though he’s partially sure Higgs doesn’t entirely mind— and takes all the pleasure he can get. This isn’t how he planned to spend some _him-time_ to relax, he’d rather find a hot spring, but he can’t find it in him to complain. 

Higgs’ thrusts becomes uneven and his moans grow louder. The hands in his hair tighten minutely. At the same time Higgs pulls back to spatter his cum on Sam’s face— the _bitch—_ something _weird_ happens. He feels— god _fuck_ , he feels the tentacles release tar in copious amounts into him. It’s obscene, _ridiculous_ ; and he hates how the reformed knot grows tighter in his stomach. The tentacles keeping him spread out tighten around him, as the tentacles in him stammer in their pace. He feels streams of thick tar drop from him into the blackened ground below. Another one comes and curls itself around his cock, sending molten pleasure up his spine. He moans around Higgs’ cock, back in his mouth and only _partially_ softened. The tendril jacks him off ruthlessly, tar greatly slickening its pace. Sam groans again when he feels his stomach tighten and almost cramp. The tentacles _don’t stop filling him_ with the thick tar. He feels his stomach stretch out, in some fucking weird way. Higgs leans back and reaches a hand to palm roughly at the distended flesh. The contact makes him shiver. He feels _debauched_ but the tendril around him keeps pumping his cock. 

Sam’s eyes cross behind fluttering eyelids when he comes with a ragged groan. He pants hotly; his skin feels on fire where Higgs is still touching him, where the tentacles are _still_ trapping him. It’s almost painful in an alien way, just as weird as the feeling of god-knows-how-much tar inside of him, the way it fills him up. 

He looks up at Higgs. 

He could swear he sees the man smile like a bastard behind the mask. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y’all enjoyed! Tumblr is Higgs-the-god. Leave a kudos or comment yeah? I hope this isn’t sounding too repetitive 
> 
> Also this doesn’t *really* go into the “we’re all going forward” series, but fuck it, eh? Why not put it there, even tho this is not set post game
> 
> It’s currently 1 am so I’m gonna go to bed and only hope I don’t wake up to chaos from my phone from y’all lovely folks reading this uwu goodnight yall


End file.
